


A Goldfish in a Bowl

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College AU, F/M, M/M, for Chiara, roommates au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles really, really hates his roommate. He’s too clean, too quiet, too ruggedly handsome, and it’s just not fair. People like Stiles Stilinski aren’t supposed to hit the kinda-sorta jackpot and end up roommates with people like Derek Hale. Plus, Derek keeps walking in whenever Stiles is trying to have “Happy Manly Alone Time.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Goldfish in a Bowl

**Author's Note:**

> An idea I came up with last night that Chiara demanded I write.
> 
> Except I fail so it’s not super smutty just a couple references (fairly explicit references) to masturbation.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Dude, you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks Scott. You sure know how to treat a lady.”

“You’re not a lady, dude.”

Stiles sighs an sinks lower into the coffee shop chair, plush and relaxing and smelling of freshly ground coffee and old books. “Touche.”

Scott nods, unscrewing the cap on his soda and watching with wide and curious eyes as Stiles sips at his own caramel mocha. “So, is there a reason you look like shit?”

Stiles throws an arm across his eyes, whining dramatically. “It’s my roommate.” He exclaims, garnering absolutely zero looks, because most of the douchey hipsters inhabiting the coffee shop know Stiles and loathe him silently. “He’s awful. And perfect. But mostly awful.” He whimpers and wipes away fake tears, sniffling around a large slurp of coffee.

“I don’t get it.”

“Of course you don’t.” Stiles agrees. “You’ve got your own apartment with Isaac and Alison. You don’t understand what it’s like to have a complete stranger as a roommate.”

Scott manages the best sympathetic face he can, which isn’t much. “Sorry dude.”

Stiles makes a high pitched and indignant noise into his cup. “Sorry dude, that’s all I get? Scott he  _does my laundry for me_.” Scott just stares back. “My own  _father_  never did my laundry.” Scott blinks owlishly. “He picks up dinner and yells at me for not studying and gives me these laser-y ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ eyes whenever I come back to the room drunk.”

Scott’s face contorts into a pinched expression. “Are we still talking about your dad or your roommate?”

“My roommate!”

Scott finally, sort of, just a little, seems to understand the severity of the situation. “Ah, that sucks. I guess. I mean Alison does that stuff too, not the drinking thing, but, the other stuff. So. It’s kind of annoying?”

Stiles slaps a hand across his face, groaning. “She’s your girlfriend, it’s normal for her to do that. Parents do that, boyfriends and girlfriends do that. Freakishly handsome stranger roommate men  _do not_  do this.”

Scott nods, sipping at his soda silently. Stiles resolves himself to never getting the right reaction and settles into the chair, wallowing in his despair and empty coffee cup. It’s as he’s packing up his study things that Scott all but shouts, “wait, dude, is this your way of coming out to me!?”

)

Stiles slams the door as soon as he gets back to the room and is only half surprised when Derek calls out from the small kitchenette, “don’t slam the doors!” Stiles barely tamps down the ‘fuck you too!’ that bubbles up in response. Instead, he settles for silence and heads to his bed, falling onto it face first. He groans when a delicious scent wafts into the room. “I made dinner.”

“Go away.”

“It’ll get cold.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

“Stop sounding like my father!” Stiles flips him the bird, and tunes out the scolding. “Just. Leave it in a container, I’ll eat later.”

Derek huffs, displeased. “Fine. But you better eat.”

He turns and leaves and Stiles wonders if his erection pressing against the bed is because he hasn’t jerked off in a week, or because Derek’s proclivity for taking care of him.

Both, he thinks, both are probably true. And with that in mind, he resolutely ignores his dick for the rest of the evening. (Even as he eats the heavenly, cheesy concoction Derek made for dinner.)

)

Stiles does indulge his dick, though, the following evening. When Derek works as a waiter at a restaurant twnety minutes away. Just the drive there would give Stiles’ ample time to work himself over. But he feels leisurely tonight, and decides to take it slowly. Stiles grins, bringing his lower lip between his teeth as he settles onto his bed with his laptop.

He clicks to his usual site, a generic free porn site with more bad than good, but enough good that he can get off every time. His pajama pants are pulled down low on his lips, and his cock rests against his stomach, warm and on its way to half mast.

Stiles sighs as he slowly strokes around the head, clicking on a video of two men and a woman; it’s terrible camera angles and stupid noises, but the two guys are alluring, and Stiles would never pass up a pair of nice tits. He watches with drooping eyes, a myriad of fodder folder fantasies flickering behind his eyelids. As his dick grows harder he takes it all in hand, stroking fast and dry and relishing the catch, the almost off-putting texture.

A moan drops from his mouth just as the main door—which opens directly into the bedrooms—swings open revealing a frazzled looking Derek.

“What the  _fuck_ , dude?!” Stiles squawks, slamming his laptop shut and barely placing it safely aside before burrowing under his covers.

Derek stammers out an apology, hurries to his bedside table and grabs something, Stiles isn’t sure what as he’s too busy drowning in mortification, before leaving just as fast.

Mood sufficiently ruined, Stiles apologizes to his dick, and his laptop, before deciding to gorge himself on Derek’s double fudge ice cream. (Which isn’t as dirty as it sounds, and Stiles is oddly upset by that.)

)

Stiles looks at Isaac very seriously, until their eyes meet. “Uh, Stiles?”

“Do you ever walk in on Scott masturbating? Or him and Alison doing the nasty?”

Isaac colors vibrantly. “No! I’d never!”

Stiles nods, but still stares. “How do you know? Y’know?”

Isaac is still flushed pink and looks spectacularly uncomfortable. “He or Alison will put a sock on the door.” He shrugs. “Then I know not to go in. I usually knock anyways, but if there’s a sock…”

“Right, yeah of course.” Stiles stands and throws money on the table for their coffee. “Thanks, bro.”

)

So that’s what Stiles does. He puts a sock, a bright orange sock, on the door before he gets comfortable with his hand on his dick and a particular fantasy in mind. He imagines the locker room of his high school, he imagines Jackson with his asshole smirk and cock sucker lips—a description only slighly exaggerated by Stiles’ desperation. Danny, fuzzy in Stiles’ memory, walks into the fantasy as well. Stiles is content to imagine them, kissing and touching, stripping down to nothing and pressing each other against lockers and equipment.

Stiles groans and plants his feet on the bed to stroke himself off faster, imagining Jackson’s hands on Danny and Danny’s fingers working Jackson open.

Stiles can feel it, a tingling a the base of his spine that seeps like a flood into his limbs and tells him  _soon, soon, soon—_

And the door swings open.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” Stiles snaps, though he isn’t sure if it’s directed toward his dick or toward Derek.

Derek apologizes and throws a towel at Stiles before ducking into the kitchenette.

)

“Alison. You’re my only hope.”

She sighs in a way that’s specifically reserved for Stiles. “Just get a different roommate.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?!” He snaps, arms flailing and narrowly avoiding their coffees. “They said the only person available was this guy named Matt and he’s  _creepy_.”

Alison snorts around her pumpkin bread. “And your current roommate walking in on your alone time isn’t creepy?”

Stiles opens his mouth to retort, but falls short. “It’s a different kind of creepy.”

Alison shakes her head. “It’s not, but okay.”

)

“You’re what?” Stiles asks, looking up from his stupid English Lit book.

“I’m going back home for the holidays.” Derek answers again from where he’s packing things into suitcases. “You’re not?”

“Nah, dad is always busy.”

Stiles likes these moments. For all that he swears Derek is a thorn in his side—and that’s not untrue—moments like this where they talk easily and casually are nice. Derek hums.

“Big family?”

“Absurdly so.” Derek affirms, snapping the suitcase shut. “I’ll be gone through Christmas, back before New Years.”

Stiles nods, still pretending to be enraptured with the novel. “Cool.”

)

He’s three fingers deep in his ass and almost ready for four when his phone rings. And rings, and rings, and rings.

“ _I’m on the hunt, I’m after you—”_  is Derek’s ringtone, because for a college freshman he’s got a sort of freakish obsession with wolves.

“I’m going to skin you alive and make coats out of said skin and make cute little draw string hoodies out of your bulging muscles and send them to orphaned penguins you fucking  _douche_.” Stiles hisses into the phone, hanging up and throwing it halfway across the room.

It rings again, and goes to voicemail. When Stiles finally admits defeat in the face of a completely ruined masturbation session, he finds a message that goes as follows.

“ _It isn’t polite to threaten people. I was calling to wish you a happy Christmas, and make sure you hadn’t burnt down the complex yet.”_  There’s a long silence before.  _“Sorry.”_

)

Stiles grins against Boyd’s mouth. Boyd is Isaac’s friend, and is at an ‘off’ point of an on/off relationship with Isaac’s other best friend. Boyd had kissed Stiles by the punchbowl and they barely made it out of the commons and to Stiles’ room before they were reaching for the other’s clothes. Granted, they’re both pretty drunk so it’s more like groping and pinching as opposed to seductive stripping. But it still totally counts.

Boyd has just got his hand around Stiles cock when the bedroom door, left slightly ajar, squeaks open.

“Happy new year.” Derek announces. Stiles is so busy being pissed, he misses the look Derek shoots Boyd. The look that evidently has him scrambling for his clothes and the door.

Boyd leaves with a shout of “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend!”

Stiles freezes, town between laughing and crying. He eventually decides to fuck his nudity and fuck the fact that Derek is sort of watching him, and instead falls into a drunken sleep.

)

“How’s Derek?”

“He’s still walking in on me every time I try to have some Happy Manly Alone Time.”

Scott’s answering laugh, Stiles’ thinks, warrants an abrupt end to the call. Just as he’s tossed his phone to his bed, there’s a knock on his door. He answers it wearily. Instead of a friend, Scott, or even Derek, it’s a young woman he’s never seen before.

“Hello, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I have it on good word that you might be interested in switching to a different roommate? We recognize it’s an odd thing to do so late in the school year, but a single recently opened up, and it is up for grabs.”

Stiles blinks. “Uh, what exactly does ‘good word’ imply?”

The woman looks squeamish. “Mr. Hale said you were unsatisfied with the living arrangements.” She explains, tapping a note on her clipboard. “He said that while there was minimal animosity, you two simply weren’t ‘meshing’.”

Stiles blinks again. “Uh.” He looks around, making sure the halls are clear and that Derek isn’t about to drop in from a ceiling vent. “That’s okay, we’re actually pretty good, here. S’all good.”

Perplexed as she looks, the woman asks no questions and departs with a friendly and rehearsed goodbye.

Stiles, later, will wonder why he passed up such a golden opportunity. He’ll also decide not to dwell on the why.

)

“Derek?” Stiles is sipping on a non-Starbucks (and infinitely better because of it) sweat fruit tea when he spots his roommate, ordering an iced latte. “Dude, I figured you’d be the type to go somewhere cool for spring break.” It’s no secret between them that Derek is rather wealthy, though he seldom makes use of it.

Derek shrugs. “It felt like a good year to stay home.”

Stiles ignores the way his heart jumps at  _home_. “Yeah? I just don’t see the point in uprooting yourself just to come back. I mean, some people go so far, just for a couple days.” He shrugs and takes a long drink.

“I agree.” Derek tells him.

Stiles grins. “You busy?”

“I’m meeting my sister later.” Derek answers. “She flew in, instead.”

Stiles nods hurriedly. “Yeah, of course.”

“I’m free tomorrow.”

Stiles stops mid turn, blushing and ready to swallow down whatever sort of offer he’d been about to extend. “Yeah?”

“We could catch a movie.”

Stiles coughs simply to gather time, enough breath to answer. “Sure.” is what he gives instead, in the form of a breath exhale.

“We can pick one later tonight. I won’t be out late. Laura flies back tonight anyways.”

“Okay.” Stiles says, automatic.

“See you then.” Derek flashes him rare smile before he’s off, out into the damp spring weather.

)

Stiles plans it carefully. He watches like a hawk from their room’s window, waiting for the familiar rumble of Derek’s Camaro, and the tell tale flash of blueish headlights. He waits until the car pulls into its usual parking spot that Stiles throws himself onto Derek’s bed, naked and fingers slick with lube.

Only a few minutes later, the door clicks as it’s unlocked, and swings open. This time, the gasp sounds not from Stiles but from Derek, as he watches Stiles taunt and tease himself.

“Mm,” is all Stiles can say, sliding two wet fingers inside and rolling his hips against the intrusion. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

Derek’s jaw falls open.

It inspires a sense of pride in Stiles. “You’re kind of interrupting.” Stiles teases, words barely forming properly around gasps and moans.

“I can do a lot more that just  _interrupt_.”

Stiles grins. “Then why don’t you.”

)

“Alison.”

“Scott, just hush.”

“But, Alison, he’s a  _creeper_.”

“You know  _he_  can hear you, right?”

Stiles laughs, drinking his own coffee and stealing a bite of Derek’s scone. They’re gathered with Scott, Alison, and Isaac in their usual coffee shops, eating and drinking and chatting.

“I’m just glad Stiles’ complaining is over.” Alison announces, laughing in the face of Stiles’ pout.

“It’s not over, you three just don’t have to deal with it.” Derek assures them. Stiles pinches his neck unhappily. “I mean…” Derek drawls off but makes no real attempt to amend his statement, earning himself another pinch.

“Derek whines more.”

“I don’t whine, I take care of you.”

“Whine, nag, whatever.”

)

“Derek, I’m back, and I have lo mein—holy shit.”

Derek grins at him, over his shoulder, from where he’s propped up on his hands and knees. A vibrator buzzes on a low setting in his ass, and Derek is stroking himself slowly. “You’re kind of interrupting.”

Stiles all but tears off his clothes as he stumbles to the bed. “You’re such an asshole.” He says with an affectionate laugh.

)

Stiles wakes up to Derek snuggled up beside him, and they take turns peppering kisses against each other’s faces and mouths and shoulders. Stiles opens his mouth to say how nice this is, how he’s glad he turned down a change in housing, how despite the overall obsessive and freaky beginning, this relationship is pretty awesome—when the bedroom door swings open, as it tends to do.

Stiles looks at Derek, who looks right back. Confused, the both crane their necks to see whose snuck in.

“My  _eyes_.” Scott cries out, hitting at least two tables and getting tripped up in a pair of pants before escaping back into the hall.

Derek and Stiles laugh themselves back into a lazy sleep.


End file.
